


Venus Fly Trap

by Flazéda (peternurphy)



Category: Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft
Genre: Choking, M/M, PWP, Post-Orgasm Torture, Rimming, Sadomasochism, Violent Sex, broken fingers, real powerbottom hours who the FUCK up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 06:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12227625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peternurphy/pseuds/Flaz%C3%A9da
Summary: A recounting of an illicit meeting in the chambers of Ilek-Vad; or, Nyarlathotep is greedy.





	Venus Fly Trap

Randolph has come to expect him.

The timing may differ, and some nights he doesn’t show at all, but Randolph now makes sure to be completely bathed by nightfall, and to have a few bottles of wine out in his chambers. If he doesn’t arrive, Randolph can simply leave the wine for the next night, and chastise him the next night for his inconsistency.

But this night he’s arrived before Randolph has even finished bathing. Randolph walks into his chambers in his dressing gown, hair wet and uncombed, and sees a brown and golden haze lying in what would be his bed.

“You’re late,” says the haze. His voice is cool, but something wavers just above it; more energy, trapped in the mask it’s wearing. Randolph jumps back and hears the sharp tones of his laugh. He crosses his arms, but he smiles.

“I wasn’t aware we had an appointment.” 

“You’re supposed to be here before me. I had to wait and wait, alone and _bored_ , because you won’t even let me look through your things anymore.” By this point, Randolph has retrieved his glasses from the dresser and can see Nyarlathotep clearly. He’s smiling with his teeth, framed by dark red rouge on his lips and with his eyes sharp and emotionless. In his left hand is one of the bottles of wine.

Randolph sighs. The whining, he hates to admit, never fails to charm him. He sits down on the bed besides Nyarlathotep and kisses him on the lips, tasting the wine. Randolph doesn’t recall it being so sweet. “Are you happy now?”

“Hardly!”

Another sigh, with a roll of his eyes and smile. “You always want so much,” Randolph murmurs as he stands up to get the glasses he’d set across the room. As he shuffles around the foot of the bed he runs his hands through his hair, trying to straighten-

“Where are you going, exactly?”

And now Nyarlathotep stands before him. He stands above him, in fact - at a height that’s somehow more than that of the mask, causing his shadow to fall on Randolph despite the one lamp being behind Randolph. Randolph, again, feels his head spin slightly and tries to tense his legs to keep himself conscious. As often as Nyarlathotep does this, Randolph can’t get used to it. 

“I’m going to pour myself some wine,” he answers. “And you too. Shouldn’t someone as cultured and high class as you know it’s uncouth to drink from the bottle?”

“Shouldn’t you know better than to make me keep waiting?”

“I’m getting wine. You’re welcome to prepare yourself while I pour a drink, but-”

Nyarlathotep strikes him across the face.

He uses the palm of his hand. Really, it’s much lighter than he typically strikes Randolph. Regardless of the weak slap, Randolph can practically hear his blood rushing between his legs. He draws in a quick breath as Nyarlathotep pulls him closer by the small of his back, using his other hand to caress where he’d slapped. “I’ll ask again, Randolph Carter. Shouldn’t you know _better_ than to keep me waiting?”

Randolph really should. Instead, he looks Nyarlathotep in the eyes and says, “You’re just so pleasant to deal with when you get needy.” 

Nyarlathotep raises his hand again, and Randolph steps to the side to dodge the blow. He’d love to take the slap, to feel his face tingle and to fall against Nyarlathotep. Instead, he watches Nyarlathotep’s face change to a scowl and his stance grow again. Randolph moves to the other side of the bed and smiles at Nyarlathotep, daring him to come closer.

So Nyarlathotep does. He lunges across the bed and grabs Randolph by the hair to pull him onto the mattress; Randolph yelps and sprawls on his stomach across the blankets. Nyarlathotep rolls him onto his back and straddles him across his waist, smiling down at him. “Service me,” Nyarlathotep says as he hitches up the skirts of his robes and moves to straddle Randolph’s face.

Randolph knows what to do here. He wraps his arms around Nyarlathotep’s thighs, feeling the smooth skin as it accommodates his forearms, and the muscles in both their limbs underneath resisting to push Randolph up so he can lick and tease at the skin just around his entrance. He nips at the smoother skin far from the hole, tugging at it to make Nyarlathotep whimper and push himself further down. Randolph loves to tease him, to make the god-creature above him shake and beg for more and to not give it to him until Nyarlathotep has to take it. Even in his subjugated state, a feeling of power washes over him as he feels the self under the mask growing hot, pushing the heat into the skin of the body and the energy into little moans and gasps and twitches.

Nyarlathotep’s whine is at a constant high pitch, arcing over the bed and around the room and buzzing into Randolph’s skull. He rocks and pushes himself down onto Randolph’s face; Randolph has to fight the urge to press his mouth into Nyarlathotep’s ass and shove his tongue inside of him, to taste the entrance to his guts and penetrate him that way. Instead he leans back and lets Nyarlathotep continue to shove himself down, until his legs are splayed awkwardly and he has to grab onto the headboard for balanced. 

The skin around his hole is stretched with his legs, and Randolph now presses his tongue directly against it to elicit a much stronger moan. He wishes he could angle himself and sink his teeth in there. He wishes he could leave a bruise where the external skin merges into the wet internal flesh, wishes he could leave his mark there forever.

He keeps tensing his tongue around the edge of the flesh, pressing into it and drawing back to add more saliva. He can feel Nyarlathotep responding, tensing and untensing the floor muscles and drawing the skin alternately tighter and looser. By now the hole is essentially wet from Randolph’s tongue, and Nyarlathotep makes it obvious that he wants to take said tongue. Randolph waits before indulging him, continuing his regimen of teasing touches and moving closer and closer to the center.

“I could smother you,” says Nyarlathotep.

Randolph gets what the order is. He presses his mouth into a final kiss before penetrating him. The way Nyarlathotep is riding his face, Randolph’s nose presses into his perineum. It has to be somewhat uncomfortable; Randolph decides it’s his punishment for being so demanding. But when he presses his face further up, Nyarlathotep’s moan only indicates pleasure.

Nyarlathotep tightens around Randolph’s tongue, rocking slightly and breathing loudly into moans that make Randolph’s cock twitch. Randolph sees Nyarlathotep hard above him, his cock at an angle to the waist that seems like it can hardly carry the organs of his body. The taste of wetter flesh in Randolph’s mouth must be connected to something - but it’s a simulation. If he cut Nyarlathotep open, he thinks, he would just find more neatly coiled tubes and membranes, bright pink and shiny, with no sense or purpose. Form over function.

As he continues to feel up Nyarlathotep’s legs and lick inside of him, something takes hold of his cock through his dressing gown. He looks upwards - Nyarlathotep only has one hand on the headboard. Randolph’s thighs tense and his hips push upwards. “Good,” says Nyarlathotep. 

Then he’s off of Randolph’s face. Randolph takes a moment to catch his breath as Nyarlathotep leans across the bed to take the bottle of fragrant oil from the side table. He sits back on top of Randolph; he tugs off the glittering champagne colored robes and drops them in a heap on the floor. Next he pulls at Randolph’s dressing gown, shoving it up above his waist to show Randolph’s much less perfect thighs, and his hard cock. Randolph, self-conscious, is about to sit up when Nyarlathotep pushes him down. “Do you understand what you are tonight, Randolph Carter?”

“Your partner?”

As Nyarlathotep tips the bottle over his fingers and starts to finger himself, he laughs. “ _My partner_ ,” he repeats, splaying his legs and letting Randolph watch as he pushes a finger inside himself. The oil drips down his wrist, down from his hole, on the inside of Randolph’s thighs; Nyarlathotep teasing him without even touching him. “You and this body are both toys for me. Is that understood?”

“Not fully,” says Randolph.

Nyarlathotep purses his lips; he pours more oil over his hand and begins to stroke up and down Randolph’s cock. “I bet you wish you could make me suck you off. I bet you wish you could treat me like I treat you,” he purrs, and Randolph can’t say he’s wrong. Then Nyarlathotep tightens his grip and pushes his fingernails into Randolph’s shaft. Randolph yelps and tries to jerk back. Nyarlathotep throws back his head as he laughs at him. The gold at the end of his hair glints in the light and clicks against itself, the shadows of Nyarlathotep’s eyelashes fall over his cheek. 

He lets go. Randolph stares up at the form above him, watches as Nyarlathotep positions himself over Randolph’s erect cock and starts to sink down onto him. Nyarlathotep’s eyes flutter in pleasure; he hums happily as he’s entered. Randolph holds himself back from thrusting into Nyarlathotep until he sees him crossing his arms, displeased. He starts to fuck Nyarlathotep slowly, and he can feel the tight entrance to Nyarlathotep’s hole as he moves up in tandem with him.

“That feel good?” Nyarlathotep asks; Randolph bites his lip and nods. He’s trying to stay slow - he knows how displeased Nyarlathotep gets when he rushes. As fun as it is to be on the receiving end of those slaps, scratches, eviscerations, Randolph likes to please the god. He continues at his pace; he watches Nyarlathotep’s face contort in pleasure and it makes his cock throb. 

When Nyarlathotep rocks faster, Randolph takes that as a cue to take him faster. So, perhaps foolishly, he reaches around to grope Nyarlathotep’s ass and push him down, impaling him harder and deeper on his cock. He thinks Nyarlathotep will be pleased with this - at worst, mildly amused by the forwardness. Instead, Nyarlathotep stops at the top of his bounce, the tip of Randolph’s cock positioned within him, and reaches around to grab Randolph’s hands. 

He takes the right hand and starts to push Randolph’s little finger back. As the angle gets more dangerous, as it starts to hurt more, Nyarlathotep starts to sink slowly back onto him. His smile is wide, his teeth glittering dangerously. “You wouldn’t,” whispers Randolph.

Nyarlathotep snaps the finger back. 

Randolph yells and jerks in the bed. Nyarlathotep starts riding him at the same speed, holding the broken and mangled hand and laughing between his moans and gasps. He rides Randolph hard, almost painfully so, slamming himself up and down and changing his angle to make the tip of Randolph’s cock push against his internal walls before being pulled almost all the way out. He can’t match Nyarlathotep’s speed and intensity but he tries. His breath goes ragged, his cock feels like it can barely handle any more of this.

And then Nyarlathotep stops at the tip of his cock again, his face blank. “Do you want another?” he asks. His lips twitch. “Give me your other hand, Randolph Carter.” And Randolph does.

Nyarlathotep takes his sweet time. He pushes it back and sinks down on Randolph’s cock, then lets it go back to its position as he pushes himself up. He fucks himself impossibly slow, matching his pace by how he bends Randolph’s finger. When he takes the full length, it hurts - but it’s not broken. 

It’s not a threat. A threat implies that Nyarlathotep might not keep breaking him. Nyarlathotep can keep teasing him like this for hours - Randolph knows this from experience. Randolph doesn’t have that stamina. At some point soon now, with how much his cock aches, he’s going to grab Nyarlathotep and start fucking him, at which point-

Snap.

At the same time, Nyarlathotep probably doesn’t want to do this all night. Even though he’s smiling and humming happily, Randolph knows he wants to really be fucked. He likes being grabbed and touched and taken care of as well as sitting and watching Randolph fail to fulfill his impossible demands. 

Randolph could try to punish Nyarlathotep by staying still and not letting him be satisfy. He could even jerk his hand away and shove Nyarlathotep off, then take him doggy style over the side of the bed. He thinks about it - about grabbing Nyarlathotep by the waist, about flipping him over, about smacking that perfect ass until his handprint shows up in purple and calling him a needy little bitch, about making him beg before he shoves his cock inside of him. 

Instead, he gives in and bucks his hips after about half a minute of the torture. Nyarlathotep’s face cracks into a smile all the way across his jawline; for a fraction of a second the smile is in his throat. Randolph barely processes the pain in his finger with how relieved he is to get the fast stimulation again. Somewhere, something hurts, but at the moment, the only meaningful sensation is how good Nyarlathotep feels riding his cock.

It feels like he’s about to burst. Randolph tenses his legs and tries to slow his breathing. He had to hold himself back before from fucking his partner, now he has to hold himself back from finishing. Ironically enough, it’s Randolph and not Nyarlathotep receiving the lesson in patience. 

“I’d say I’m _nearly_ there,” Nyarlathotep purrs. His speaking voice floats above his moans, sounding at the same moment (along with Randolph’s desperate grunts and much less dignified moans). It’s not comforting; Nyarlathotep’s ‘nearly there’ is far from Randolph’s. And in any case, he wants to savor the feeling. Randolph is always proud to make Nyarlathotep moan like this. 

He thinks he’s safe after repeating the slow breaths. The noise he makes is one of relief as he falls back into the old rhythm.

But clearly, Nyarlathotep picks up on it. Randolph can practically hear his ‘this won’t do’ as he tightens his internal muscles, in a slick vice that brings Randolph to completion almost immediately. He spills inside of Nyarlathotep. 

His cum drips over his cock as Nyarlathotep continues to bounce on him. He thought that having his fingers broken was torture; he thought that being teased with slow riding was torture. This has both of them beat. His cock feels like it’s being held and stimulated through every possible means at once, all coming together to something that’s almost like pain. But Randolph likes pain, and this is beyond it. His legs quake, his mouth opens and his throat produces inhuman, pained sounds. Nyarlathotep looks like he’s never enjoyed himself more.

Randolph can only twitch and jerk. He sees himself in Nyarlathotep’s eyes, like an electrocution victim trapped holding the wire that shocks him to death. Nyarlathotep matches his moans in sound and intensity - but of course, with different quality. Randolph reaches out for Nyarlathotep’s cock to try to end the torment faster - and is grabbed by his broken pinkie and his hand thrown back down onto the bed. Then he feels Nyarlathotep squeeze around him, changing position and rocking on top of him while clenched tighter. He watches Nyarlathotep smile; his eyes water and his legs kick futilely. 

“ _Keep struggling_ -” Nyarlathotep gasps, before breaking off into moaned words that Randolph can’t understand. He’s obedient - it’s not like the waves of sensation that wash through him will allow him to lie still. He watches Nyarlathotep, now blurry through his tears, throw his head back and arch his back while he feels the muscles inside of the form twitching and gripping and sliding around his cock. The moans grow higher, the incomprehensible words more desperate and faster. Randolph breathes through his teeth.

It never seems possible, but Nyarlathotep always grows even more violent as he nears climax. He rakes his nails down Randolph’s chest, ripping through the fabric of the dressing gown and his flesh like they’re the same material. Still, when Randolph looks at Nyarlathotep’s hands, he has the same immaculately lacquered and normal looking nails - only now, with blood running down the fingers.

It must be impulse when Nyarlathotep doubles over, clenched tighter than he’s ever been, and wraps the red-tinged hands around Randolph’s throat. He squeezes with preternatural force and no care for Randolph’s trachea; Randolph would cough and choke if there were any way for air to move through his neck. The painted nails, naturally, break skin, as Nyarlathotep screams and thrusts his hips, grabbing onto a choking, thrashing, crying Randolph Carter.

Who’s in a state of bliss. One last burst of sexual pleasure mixes with the torment as he notices that Nyarlathotep is becoming less defined. The shadows across his face start to warp, then his face itself. He’s struggling to hold the mask on. If Randolph had a death wish, he would try to focus his eyes and look at the cracks in the form. Instead, he simply watches the face of the mask - until Nyarlathotep gives one last high-pitched gasp and Randolph feels something wet on his stomach.

Nyarlathotep eases himself off of Randolph to lie beside him. The falling apart, screaming thing Randolph saw is transformed into a pretty (if disheveled) man smiling serenely at him, an arm casually thrown across Randolph’s stomach. Randolph still has to catch his breath.

“I guess you’ll want those hands taken care of,” says Nyarlathotep. He sits up and holds out his hands, palms up. Randolph continues to lie flat on the bed. “Don’t be rude, Randolph Carter. You have no idea how rare this is.”

Randolph snorts. “Are you saying I’m special?”

“If you don’t want to be, I’ll just leave your hands broken.”

“So be it,” says Randolph. “I’m going to sleep.”

And before he can roll over, Nyarlathotep has grabbed his hands.


End file.
